


i want to tell you

by miribees



Series: Lamb of God [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1967 angst fresh and hot get your 1967 angst here, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Azra, Crowley goes by Anthony, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, Extended Scene, Gen, Historical References, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Quote: You go too fast for me Crowley (Good Omens), Reverse!Omens, Wrong Omens, Wrong!Omens, music references, reverse au, they have yet to drink their self-determination juice so apart they shall stay for now, yes I considered ezra instead it was a tough call alright, yes the 60's count hush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 12:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miribees/pseuds/miribees
Summary: ""Oh, don't look so disappointed." The angel sounded almost bitter, turning back to face him. "Maybe one day we could... go for a picnic in the Gardens. Dine at the Ritz." His bitterness slipped off of him as he spoke like water off a duck's back, leaving just sadness staring at Azra with flecked golden eyes. Azra wanted so, so badly to make that expression disappear."I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go." He held his breath, rectangular pupils struggling through his glasses to focus on the minutia of Anthony's face as he processed the offer. The angel smiled, just slightly, and Azra felt the beginnings of hope."





	i want to tell you

Azra crossed the neon Soho street, well-dressed and silently judging the seedy environment around him. It was perfectly composed for clandestine meetings and it fostered secrets in it's inconspicuous side streets. It was exactly the sort of human thing he ought to be encouraging, given his occupation, but there was no accounting for taste. He already wished he was at home in his study with candlelight, Beethoven playing, and a glass of a good red in hand. That was what luxury meant to him, and human's seemed to only be straying further and further from it. They could still be useful though, something the events of the next day would determine. His nervous ruminations continued as he stepped to the door of his vintage Benz and slid inside. 

Anthony was in the passenger seat, which certainly hadn't been true a moment ago, but flinching at unexpected arrivals was for amateurs. So Azra stretched in his seat, giving a casual sidelong look at his passengers direction.

"Anthony. To what do I owe the pleasure?" The angel was nervous, not exactly meeting his gaze. He took a quick breath before beginning a careful speech.

"I work in Soho, I hear things." He paused, taking the chance to look at Azra. "I heard, that you were setting up a... caper." 

"Come to stop me, have you?" 

"It's too dangerous-"

"You told me what you think. 105 years ago." Azra interrupted, bracing for another debate.

"That's why... I can't have you risking your life." The angel reached into his jacket with a white-knuckled hand before it reappeared with something in it's grip. "Don't go unscrewing the cap."

Azra's next retort died on his tongue as he stared at the suddenly offered thermos. It was light green and had simple, childish drawings of flowers in over-saturated colours covering it in a repeating pattern. It looked ridiculous, and he cradled it carefully in both manicured hands as Anthony passed it to him.

"The real thing?" He finally pushed his voice through the ash in his throat and managed, nearly, to avoid it trembling.

"The holiest." The angel's lips twitched up in a valiant effort at a smile before giving up and pulling into a tight, unhappy line.

"... Should I say thank you?" 

"Better not." Anthony's voice was still pinched, and he quickly looked away out at the street. Azra's mind surged, suddenly afraid the angel was leaving, suddenly desperate for him to stay.

"Can I drop you anywhere?" Azra didn't sound desperate as a rule, so he leaned in closer and tried for suave. Make an offer he won't want to refuse, and then they'd be friends again like 105 years never happened.

"No." 

Azra froze, hurt flickering over his face.

"Oh, don't look so disappointed." The angel sounded almost bitter, turning back to face him. "Maybe one day we could... go for a picnic in the Gardens. Dine at the Ritz." His bitterness slipped off of him as he spoke like water off a duck's back, leaving just sadness staring at Azra with flecked golden eyes. Azra wanted so, so badly to make that expression disappear.

"I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go." He held his breath, rectangular pupils struggling through his glasses to focus on the minutia of Anthony's face as he processed the offer. The angel smiled, just slightly, and Azra felt the beginnings of hope.

"You go too fast for me, Azra." 

Anthony slipped out into the evening air, and as soon as he was clear of the door Azra slammed on the gas, mind absent of any thoughts that weren't _getting away from here as fast as demonically possible._ Racing out of London proper to a more secluded patch of land, the Benz roared up the winding path to his estate. It was older than the country and far larger than any one person would ever have need of, but Azra liked the impersonal feeling of it all. He kept it all maintained via demonic miracles and made well sure that no prying eyes would be able to see that such a structure even existed. Leaving the Benz in her luxury garage, he stalked his way to one of many kitchens and grabbed a bottle of wine. And a second, just to get him started. Though the halls of the estate were winding and monotonous, his study was always where he expected it to be. As he burst through the polished wood door a fire was stoked, candles began to flare to life, and his gramophone began to spin on cue. Tchaikovsky, for feeling sorry for oneself. He slumped into his throne, setting up the wine on an ornately carved side-table. He removed his glasses, letting his eyes adjust. Taking a long first sip and relishing in the indulgence of it all, he thought.

"6000 years. He's known me for almost _6000 years._ What the Heaven is he _fucking_ talking about?"

-

Anthony watched the Benz pull away, heart hammering. He ran his hands through his copper hair, pushing the (currently fashionable) mid-length strands away from his face and looking up at the stars barely peeking through the light pollution. He glanced back towards the club Azra had come out of and took a moment to think of the demon's absurd plan. It was almost like he was daring his eternal adversary to show up, acting so foolhardy. This must be what he did to the demon every other century, he figured, and laughed at the absurdity of the role reversal. He stopped laughing at the thought of certain death in his only friend's hands. His hands dropped and he wiped them nervously on his cream coloured blazer, scrunching up the fabric. He didn't stand out in his neighbourhood, but people would look strangely at anyone who stood stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk for long enough. Jostled by passing shoulders, Anthony turned around and began trudging back in the direction of his shop.

"Hello, Alexandra." He said absently as he came through his front doors, greeting directed at a faithful Dracaena who stood vigil at the entrance at all hours. He barely paid attention to it's leaves, brushing by without so much as a "you've improved greatly", or "you have the strongest stems this side of the Atlantic". If you were to ask the Dracaena, it would tell you that such behaviour was out of character for the angel. 

Anthony moved through the crowded, overgrown shopfront to the even more crowded, overgrown backroom. Technically there was a flat upstairs for his use as well, but the bedroom was currently housing a group of fussy orchids at nearly 100% humidity. He sunk into his sofa, guiltily thinking about Azra sitting beside him for one of their usual nightcaps. He could've asked, and the demon would've come. Under the charismatic exterior, one -with enough practice- could recognize an odd sort of vulnerability. In his own way, he'd practically offered up his heart on a silver platter, and Anthony had said... what, exactly? He dragged his hands down his face, thinking and thinking until he decided he was rather done with the concept for the night. He _snapped_ himself a glass of wine and walked over to his radio set-up, one of the few pieces of technology among the veritable Eden. Anthony was passionate about flora, obviously, but his second love was music. Humans had such clever innovations, creating songs fervently and with such _love._ It always calmed him down, listening to the purest representation of human emotion. That's what he'd do now, he decided, and he'd pot a few baby ferns while he was at it. He tapped the radio gently and it sprung to life.

_"-But if I seem to act unkind, it's only me, it's not my mind that is confusing things. I want to tell you, I feel hung-up and I don't know why..."_

Anthony stared forward blankly, suddenly regretting the slight push he'd given the group to super-stardom, but how could he not have done it? He always had a weakness for an upbeat love song. Until his precious radio got an insatiable hunger for their music, almost exclusively. He tried changing the station but the radio spit out a disapproving crunch of static and switched the station back. 

"Are we doing this now?" He pleaded with the unmoving hunk of technology. "Please, let's just listen to, um, The Bee Gee's or something-" The radio turned up the volume in response. "... Okay." He sat down in front of it with wine still in hand and shucked off his jacket and kicked off his shoes. Lying down on the floor that always smelled of soil and fresh rain, Anthony closed his eyes and listened.

_"I could wait forever, I've got time. Sometimes I wish I knew you well, then I could speak my mind and tell, _ _maybe you'd understand._

_I feel hung-up and I don't know why, _

_I_ _ don't mind, _ _I could wait forever, I've got time..."_

**Author's Note:**

> your feedback fuels me, i treasure every single person who reads my nonsense. (no beta and written in one go at 2 am, there may be some errors) well, here's my take on a wrong!omens au. Azra now has black hair instead of white, looks a tich more formal in slick black suits, may or may not have nubby little horns under his curls, and definitely has rectangular blue sheep eyes, hence why he still has the glasses. did you know sheep are also dichromatic and have a great field of vision at the cost of being super far sighted? facts. and the vintage benz and an over indulgent colonial estate he just like, yoinked just seemed a little more luxurious for a being of such extraordinarily refined tastes and little hold-back when it came to indulgence.  
Crowley goes by Anthony still because his angelic name is just fuck-off long and not at all a normal human name. he went by it since the name's conception, set up his flower shop as "Anthony's" in the 19th century, and hasn't looked back. it makes him sad when the other angels don't call him anthony :( in case it wasnt clear enough, he's still in beatlemania fashion even as an angel. and as for the music references, i decided that Crowley's "thing" (like az's magic tricks) was going to be him not only listening to pretty much all human music religiously, but over the centuries trying to learn how to play every instrument under the sun himself and doing it quite poorly. his obligatory sentient-object's fav music (and his) is now the beatles instead of queen sorry freddy.  
title shameless stolen from the beatles song of the same name. i was tempted to use "i will" bc its SO them, but it didnt come out until '68 :(  
PLEASE do let me know what you think, making an au was harder than I thought. This is currently part 1 (of 1) of a series because I intend to re-imagine at least one other historical scene with the two :) ps. azra means "pure" in arabic, i learned, apparently. god has a sense of humour?


End file.
